Alive and Kicking
by Two-Bits
Summary: SLASH and HET TwoBits runs a cafe. Featuring flamer!Spot and his boyfriend, straight!Race. Teen drama abounds.
1. Alive and Kicking

I own a café.

Well, actually, it's not really _mine._ It's my dad's. But he basically gave it to me to manage. I do everything: hire people, fire people, order ingredients, and best of all, collect the profit. Ten percent goes to my dad, then I pay the workers, and I get the rest. It's great.

Yawning, I unlocked the door to Alive and Kicking. I flipped on the neon 'open' sign and placed a white sign with red lettering on it in the window.

The sign said 'help wanted.' As much as I hated interviewing newbies, I had to fire Jack Kelly yesterday. He spent more time harassing customers than making coffee. Particularly the customers of the 'pretty female' variety. Which meant now I had to find somebody to replace him.

"Finally fired Jack, did you?" I turned around and saw Dutchy pushing open the door. Without fail, Dutchy was always at the café five minutes after me. I gave him a weary nod. Dutchy glared at me and put his hands on his hips.

"You fired Jack on the _one_ day of the week that I'm not at the café!" I slapped a hand over my eyes.

"I completely forgot! Sorry, Dutchy," I said guiltily. "But Jack was really bad yesterday. He started using his hands," I explained, holding my own hands up for added effect. Dutchy shook his head.

"He's such a jerk," he muttered.

"I couldn't agree more."

I jumped over the counter while Dutchy pointedly used the waist-high swinging door. I sat Indian-style on the floor and opened the cabinet under the cash register. I pulled out two dark red aprons and a basket of nametags. Dutchy grabbed one of the aprons off my lap and tied it around his waist. I fished around in the basket until I found the silver nametag that said 'Dutchy.'

"So that means we get to interview a bunch of losers until we find the most qualified loser, right?" Dutchy said with false cheer, pinning his nametag to his chest.

"Yep—Where the _hell_ is my nametag!" I demanded. Dutchy rolled his eyes.

"There it's the only brass one in there, Two-Bits," he said impatiently, taking the basket. Within thirty seconds, he pulled out my manager's badge. Glaring at him, I snatched it out of his hands.

"Shut. Up."

Pinning it to my shirt, I stood up and leapt backwards with a strangled yelpt. "_Jesu Cristo!_ Race, you sonuvabitch!"

Racetrack Higgins pulled off the grotesque mask, grinning cheekily. I reached over the register and smacked him upside the head. He pouted cutely.

"Aw, c'mon Bits." I glared at him and threw an apron at him. He ducked when his nametag followed. "So, where's Snitchy?" he asked, referring to my twin brother.

"Sick. He and my parents went to some new restaurant while I was hanging out with that Emo kid, and they all got food poisoning." Dutchy and Racetrack made noises of sympathy.

"So who's subbing?" Dutchy asked.

"Morning, Sunshine!"

Racetrack gave me a look of pure loathing. Spot Conlon slid nimbly under the counter, wrapped his arms around Race's waist, and planted a kiss on his mouth. I couldn't help but smirk.

Spot Conlon has been my best friend since the ninth grade French project threw us together. He's flaming gay, and has come to the conclusion that Racetrack is his boyfriend. How he's figured this is beyond anyone, but I suspect it has something to do with a toothpick and a rogue bunny.

Now, Race is an open-minded guy. Straight, but open-minded. So he's not revolted by Spot's antics, it's just not his cup of tea. He figures that it's not worth losing the friendship with Spot over holding and kissing and such.

Spot doesn't actually _work_ at A.a.K., because he doesn't have the time, but he knows how to make every drink imaginable, his specialty being hard lemonade.

"Morning, Spot," I said with a grin as he hugged me and kissed me on the cheek. I desperately fought back laughter as Spot returned to Race's side, planting a hand in Race's back pocket.

"Surprised to see me?" he cooed, nibbling Race's earlobe. I bit my lip furiously.

"Shocked and ecstatic," Race replied. I could almost taste the sarcasm he was restraining.

I must say, they make an adorable couple.

"What, I don't get a hug?" Dutchy said jokingly. Spot gave him his million-dollar smile which, even Race admits, is heartwarming.

"Of course you do!" Spot said, tackling Dutchy into a hug. Laughing I pulled a laminated index card out of my back pocket.

Today's Special: Spot's "Special" Lemonade.

I pinned it to the register via a magnet. Race checked his watch.

"Time for the zombie-like masses to come and jack up on caffeine," he said cheerily. On cue, the door opened.

Alive and Kicking (A.a.K. to the staff and regulars) has a very consistent stream of customers.

At seven-thirty, I walk in and flip on the sign. At seven-thirty-five, Dutchy comes in, unless it's Tuesday, followed by two or three more employees, depending on what day it is.

At eight, our first group of customers come. They're the smartly-dressed business men and women who come here because A.a.K. is closer than Starbuck's. At nine-forty-five, we close shop to break for brunch.

At noon, Mush and Kid Blink, our sandwich makers, come and make sandwiches for the lunch crowd. They usually leave at two, but not before making sandwiches for us.

After that come the movie-goers. Right next to A.a.K. is a movie theatre, so kids grab a coffee and see a flick. Most of them are obnoxious girls who order what staggers call a "cup o' Josephine," which is basically cream and sugar with a miniscule hint of coffee.

Around six, Mush and Blink are back. They make sandwiches until eight, whence comes everyone's favorite crowd: the Emo kids.

The Emo kids come at eight and stay late. They drink coffee, talk about poetry, and basically be Emo. I always stay until the last customer is gone, so the Emos can stay as long as they want or need to. I keep a spare set of clothes and necessities in case a kid needs a place to stay for the night. On Saturday nights, we get this poet named Bumlets to come in with Drummer Boy), whose name we have yet to figure out) and he recites for us.

"What can I get for you, sir?" I asked politely, smiling at the man. He glanced at the menu before saying, "Medium coffee, black."

"Spot! Five-foot-six basket-ball player!" I called over my shoulder, ringing up his order. Dutchy and I were bored in study hall, so we came up with different terms for stuff. "Five-foot-six' means medium. 'Basketball player' means black. Thus, medium black coffee.

"Two sixty-nine is your change," I said, handing him his money. Spot handed him his coffee, and he was out the door.

Spot dragged Race into the back room, much to my amusement, while Dutchy and I complained about school coming up next week.

The door opened and I looked up to see one of our regular customers: Annie Moorehead. She has the best name ever, and she always tips.

"Meeting today, Bits," she said, setting her purse on the counter. "With Mr. Crost, no less." I made a face.

"You're in luck. Spot's here today. Spot!" I turned toward the backroom, and Spot emerged, looking a little ruffled. "One large and hard lemonade." Spot chuckled at the innuendo and hurried to prepare it.

"Drive safely," he said as he passed it to her. She sucked on the straw and waved appreciatively at us before leaving.

"I love her," I said fondly. "She's so cool."

"Yeah," Dutchy agreed. "Terrible name though."

Several people cam in at once, and we set to work fixing coffees, lemonades, and teas. By nine-thirty, the morning crowd was done, and we closed shop.

The four of us headed for IHOP in Dutchy's van (for which we make fun of him). We grabbed a booth and ordered our drinks.

"Six sixty-five for breakfast?" Racetrack complained, scanning the menu. I exchanged a look with Spot.

"Lot six six five, then," I said in a British accent. "A papiér maché musical box in the shape of a barrel organ. On top, the figure of a monkey in Persian robes playing the symbols."

"You two are so obsessed," Dutchy said, shaking his head while Spot and I grinned stupidly at each other.

"What can I get for you this morning?" asked our waitress, Marie.

"Biscuits and gravy for me!" I said.

"I'll have an omelet with salsa and hashbrowns," said Dutchy, dropping his menu on top of mine.

"French toast for me, please," Spot piped up.

"Girl," Race muttered. "I'll have scrambled eggs, two pancakes, bacon, sausage, hashbrowns, and a biscuit."

"Pig," Spot shot back. We all laughed.

"Coming right up," Marie said, taking our menus.

"Is blue eyeshadow back in? 'Cause I didn't get that memo," Spot said, watching Marie go in all her blue eyeshadow glory. I snorted.

"No, I don't think so," I replied. Spot nodded.

"That's what I thought."


	2. Job Applications

Woot! Chapter two after, like, a year of being gone! YAY! In case you guys didn't notice, I gave up on giving up fanfiction. I just love it too much! So I'll be updating a lot pretty soon, except this week I'm at camp. But after THAT I'll update!

* * *

DUTCHY 

"We're here about the job opening?"

I looked up and saw three lovely blonde girls standing in front of Two-Bits, looking like they'd just walked out of a teen fashion magazine. Two-Bits looked up and I could almost feel her mood change.

"There's only _one_ opening," she said pointedly. I rolled my eyes. Trust Two-Bits to drive off the only female applicants we've ever gotten.

Two of the girls went off to sit at a table by the window, and the middle one remained. While Two-Bits shuffled around under the counter for an application form, I watched the girl. I caught her eye and winked at her. She blushed and smiled. Two-Bits apparently noticed, because she turned around.

Two-Bits glared at me and snapped, "Dutchy! We're out of whipped cream!" I rolled my eyes and went into the back to find whipped cream. Unfortunately for me, Spot was in possession of the whipped cream. Guess who was victim to it.

"AHEM!" I said loudly. Spot pulled away from Racetrack with a grin. I glared at him. "I need another can of whipped cream." Spot laughed and tossed an unopened can at me. I tipped an imaginary hat and went back to Two-Bits.

The girl was sitting with her friends, filling out an application form, and Two-Bits was grumbling to herself, something about pink pens. "Catch," I snapped, chucking the whipped cream can at her. She spun around and caught it just in time, an infuriating habit of hers.

"Thank _you_," she replied, snootily.

"You're _welcome_," I said, matching her tone. "Whore," I muttered.

"Slut," she snapped back.

"Skank."

"Bitch."

"You wish!" I said. She stuck her tongue out at me. I paused, at a loss for words due to her playground comeback.

We both burst out laughing.

"Nice comeback," I said.

"Grazie," she replied, giving a sweeping bow. "Okay, enough of that. I've got to go home and feed Snitch. I trust you can handle the shop during lunch?"

"Of course," I said. "Can I have your badge?" She raised an eyebrow, but she took off her brass badge and tossed it at me.

"If I'm not back before Kid and Mush leave, tell Mush to give me a call. I've got a phone number for him," she said, taking off her apron. I laughed.

"I'm sure he'll be thrilled," I replied.

"Adios!" she called before heading out the door.

Mush and Kid Blink showed up for lunch pretty soon after Two-Bits left.

"Hey Mush! Call Two-Bits! She's got a phone number for you!" I said. Mush dropped a bag of sandwich ingredients on the counter.

"Great," he said unenthusiastically. "That's just what I need."

Kid Blink pulled out a small white board and stand from under the counter and began writing today's sandwich on it with a purple Expo marker.

"Where is she?" Kid Blink asked, finishing off the list. "Today's her favorite sandwich."

"She's home making chicken noodle soup for Snitchy," I replied. "He's sick."

"That sucks," Mush said sympathetically. The conversation ended as the sandwich orders started coming.

* * *

"I HATE job openings!" Two-Bits half-yelled. It was nearly eight, the emo crowd already settled in. She sat down on the floor behind the counter. "I've had about a gazillion applications filled out, and _no one_ sounds like anyone I want working in my café for the next however long! UGH!" 

"Um, excuse me, I'm here about the job opening." I looked over at the speaker. He was one of the emo kids, tall and skinny, with golden brown hair and chocolate eyes. He sported a Dashboard Confessional tee shirt. I glanced down at Two-Bits and raised an eyebrow.

She mouthed "I'm not here!"

"Yeah, um, our manager's out right now, so if you could just fill out an application form and answer some question…" I said, reaching without looking for a form. Two-Bits stuffed one in my hand and I whipped it out. "Here you go. Pen?" I said, more to Two-Bits than him. He whipped one out of his back pocket. "Ah, you keep a pen in your back pocket…" I raised an eyebrow at Two-Bits and smiled at her while he bent over the form. She looked pleased. She always carried a pen in her back pocket.

"So, uh, any complications with hours? Any time when you absolutely can_not_ work?" I asked, conversationally.

"Well, uh, school starts pretty soon…"

"Don't worry about that. Two-Bits, the manager, comes in every morning an hour before school starts, taking her brother Snitch with her. Then she and at least one sandwich guy come at lunch, and then again at seven in the evenings, for the emo crowd. During school hours, if you have a free period, she might ask you to open up shop for a little while. Sound good?"

"Great," he said. I grinned.

"What's your name, kid?"

"Uh, Derek," he replied. I looked at Two-Bits. She was nodding her head emphatically.

"Great! You're hired! You start tomorrow." He looked stunned.

"Uh, thanks! What time should I be here?"

"Seven o'clock sharp so Two-Bits can show you the ropes before the doors open."

"Great! I'll be there!"

I watched Derek hurry out of the shop. Two-Bits slowly stood up beside me. She looked at me, and I looked at her. We grinned.

"YES!"

* * *

SHOUTOUTS

Nosilla: Yeah, I love it too. What can I say. But just wait 'til Prom comes! It's awesome! Haha, if I do say so myself.

-'O'EmeraldEyes'O'-: Hey, thanks! I really like their relationship too. I just wanted to try something new, rather than the ideal couple that pretty much everone has going. Like I said to Nozzy, wait for Prom! It's so good it's eatable!

Corpus Conlon: Um, this is me saying, Sorry, but I'm in love with someone else. Too bad, sweetheart. XD As for Race...just watch. It might take a while, but it'll get good.

Jacky Higgins: HEY! Thanks for that! Sorry I didn't send this to you to BETA. I wanted to get back on the map. But I promise, I'll start sending you stuff!

Kid Blink's Dreamer: Hmm...Snittery and Sputchy? Sorry, but Dutchy's straight. (Notice I don't say anything about Snittery...) -grin-

Dreamless-Mermaid: Haha. You have no idea. I've actually heard of a woman whose name is Anita Moorehead, and she decided to go by Annie, but then that was just as bad.

Swinn: I'm having oodles of fun!

Unknown-Dreams: Aw, thanks!


End file.
